


Two Roads

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [14]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Post Episode s04e14 I Do, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Blaine and his dad have a conversation after Kurt goes back to New York; set at end of 4x14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Roads

He found it in the back seat of the Prius on Thursday morning. Mama needed the car that night because it was her turn to car pool her friends to their monthly Bunco game, and he had promised to return it to her spotless.

He didn’t think Kurt had left for the airport yet, and he probably could have called so he could drop it off at the Hummel’s house, but he didn’t want to. Instead, he sat in the back seat, his legs dangling out the side of the car, and brought the dove gray scarf to his nose, just inhaling Kurt’s scent. For a moment, tears sprang to his eyes. Kurt was flying back to New York, back to the older guy he’d been flirting with. He'd been hoping that the things that happened this week meant Kurt would soon be ready to try again. It came to him in a rush that maybe Kurt _was_ ready—ready to move on. His stomach was awash with ice at the thought. So, no, he was going to hold onto this scarf.

He opened his jacket and reached to tuck it in around his neck. As he did so, he brushed against his throat, tender with the bruises Kurt had sucked there just the day before. He pressed hard against one with his thumb, and the remembrance of the pleasure and the closeness brought a soft sob forth. But he straightened up then and tucked the scarf lovingly close to his pulse, and went back to his task.

He forgot it was there, forgot it after he finished with the car and went back into the house, hung up his coat, and settled down at the dining room table with hot cocoa, ginger snaps, and the latest _Avenger._ His dad noticed, though. He had come in and was looking through the mail on the table when he glanced up. “That’s not your new scarf. It’s nice, though—cashmere? Where’d you get it?”

Distracted, Blaine looked up from his reading, and unconsciously slipped a finger under the scarf that was still around his neck, tucked into his cardigan. “Oh, it’s … um, I found it in the car, sir. I guess, um, someone left it there.”

He realized the exact moment his dad saw the hickey, because Bill Anderson flushed red, his gaze flicking from his son’s throat to his eyes. He exhaled noisily and dropped down into the chair at his side. “Blaine.”

He wasn’t ashamed, not really, but he slipped the soft material away from his throat and spread it on the table, smoothing over it with his hands. He lifted his chin and met his father’s eyes.

“What are you doing, son? I thought you put this foolishness behind you.”

“What? Being gay? Dad, I’m not…” He was half out of the chair, his temper at flash point.

“Sit down, son. I don’t mean—THAT. I mean—sit DOWN, Blaine.”

He slid back down into the seat and set his jaw. His palms were wet where they touched the scarf. He gently laid it aside and rested his hands on his thighs, drying them surreptitiously.

His dad’s eyes were sad, and he spoke carefully, quietly. “I wasn’t happy that you didn’t come home Saturday night, but your mom ensured me it was just that the old gang was getting together for an innocent sleepover. Looks like it wasn’t so innocent.”

“Dad—“

“You’re a senior in high school, Blaine. What did you do, go up to his hotel room with him? What were you thinking?”

His dad was good at this, at making Blaine feel wrong-footed in every discussion. What _had_ he been thinking? He didn’t think his dad would want to hear that he’d been thinking he’d give ANYTHING to be touched by Kurt. Nor that the duet song they’d chosen always made him horny. Dads didn’t really want to hear things like that.

“I just—we were all having such a good time.”

“So you decided it was a good idea to throw yourself at this boy again?”

“Dad—it, it isn’t like that.”

“So tell me what it’s like. And try to do so in a way that convinces me we’re not going to have a repeat of last fall.”

“No. No. I’ve learned my lesson. No more.”

“So you’re not dating Kurt again?”

Blaine couldn’t meet the judgment in his dad’s eyes anymore. He looked down, running his hands up and down his thighs, pressing hard to keep control as he tried to find the words to tell his dad how healed he felt after the past few days. Confused, maybe, but also feeling more like himself, more accepted maybe, mostly believing in the possibility of joy again. “It…it doesn’t matter if we’re dating. He’s—he’s my best friend, and, and sometimes…”

“Alice Hayes is my best friend, an invaluable colleague. Amazingly, we’ve managed to keep our relationship going for 20 years without ever renting a hotel room together.”

Blaine sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re not listening. You never _listen_.”

His dad mirrored his posture and just looked at him. Blaine could see that he was doing that counting thing his dad did to keep his temper in check. He wished that he could do the same, but every conversation with his dad felt like this, like his choices were always wrong, like he was a little kid, a disappointment, never good enough. And really, it sort of pissed him off.

His dad brought his hands up, folded them before his face, closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and spoke. “Try to see this from my point of view, son. You were safe—not just safe, but thriving—at Dalton when you met this boy. And all that has happened since is pain and heartache. You ended up attacked again. You threw away the promising future a Dalton education all but _guaranteed_ you, the connections you were making. And your only plan for the future is to go running after this boy at some performing arts school—with no fallback plan. I wouldn’t be doing my job as your parent if I didn’t say something.”

“But—I’m really good, Dad. I can make it, and Rachel and Kurt say…”

“Rachel and Kurt’s parents can worry about their children’s futures. Now, look.” He shuffled through the mail and came up with some large envelopes. “Fordham. Michigan. You brought in the mail but didn’t even open these. These are acceptance letters, Blaine. Despite yourself, you’ve been accepted to 6 of the finest universities in this country. And that means nothing to you now, all because some boy sang you a song and gave you a few hours of his time.”

“You let Cooper do it.”

“Oh my God. Do you think Cooper was accepted by any of these schools? By NYU? Oberlin? Seriously, Blaine? I’m not saying you can’t perform. Just—think of your future. And, please, for your sake, try to think of a future that doesn’t include being a doormat to that boy.”

Blaine’s throat was tight. “I’m not a doormat.”

“No? He breezes into town, uses you, and breezes back to New York, without even a promise of a future? And you go along with that? Blaine. You are so much more than that. So much better than that.”

Blaine huffed out his frustration. “Dad, I respect your—well, I guess I see your point about school. We can—we can talk about that. But the rest—it’s just private. And, really, it wasn’t like you say. We’re both—we’re better than we were.”

His dad stood, the envelopes from the colleges in his hand. He tapped them on the table as he considered his son. “You know, I thought I was going to marry my high school sweetheart. But when I went away to Ann Arbor, she stayed in Columbus. By the time I graduated, I had completely lost track of her. I wish her well, always have. But I’m so glad that I didn’t limit my options to what she thought was safe at 18. By saying no to her, I gave myself—“ He shrugged. “My life. MY life, Blaine. And this house. And your mom. And you. Even your crazy brother.”

Blaine’s hands had drifted back to the scarf, and he had lowered his eyes, but he nodded at his dad. It was a lot to think about. Could he picture a future without a stage, without Kurt’s soft hair and long legs and those hands?

He looked up at Bill, the handsome, distant man he had always emulated but never quite understood. There was so much between them, not just his dad’s dismay at his sexuality and the years of coldness, but also the hours spent together as a child. He thought of the quiet study across the hall from his bedroom, of reading _Treasure Island_ and Tolkein, poetry and Shakespeare’s plays with his dad in the big leather chairs. A scrap of one of those poems came to him, and he said quietly, “So it’s like ‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood / And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveler…’”

His dad’s face relaxed, his relief obvious. “Exactly. And, you know, it’s true for both of you. If you’re really his friend, you have to leave him free to make his own way—to look down those paths and choose honestly. Just—don’t push it, Blaine. And do the work.”

As he headed for the stairs, he paused for a second, and said, “You’re still grounded. It might give you time to think about all of this.” 

After he went up to get changed for dinner, Blaine sat, his comic book open in front of him, but his gaze turned inward. He drew the scarf through his fingers, still smelling Kurt’s lingering scent, and tried to picture his friend’s life in New York. He thought of what would happen if he got into NYADA, and somehow convinced his parents to let him go. He thought of seeing Kurt with New York boys, with this Adam guy. He wondered how he would fit into that picture.

He slipped the scarf back around his neck and reached for the college acceptance letters, trying to look down the path to that other future.

**Author's Note:**

> Working on a character study of Blaine's unknown Dad. This piece can be read in conjunction with Bedtime, a story from Klaine Advent 2013. Formal, brilliant, bookish.


End file.
